


FF7 Drabbles

by Cephy



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Drabble Collection, Humor, Illness, Introspection, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-07
Updated: 2008-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-07 02:52:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cephy/pseuds/Cephy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles from various prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	FF7 Drabbles

Aeris, pre-game. Implied Zack/Cloud/Aeris.  


> She'd always known it could happen.
> 
> They were soldiers-- and SOLDIER-- and therefore they often went into dangerous situations. It was their job to throw themselves into the paths of monsters, and so she'd always known it was a possibility that someday they might just not come back.
> 
> But she'd never expected it to be like this.
> 
> Four months now, and still no word. She'd scoured the local news, looking for the slightest hint-- there had been a brief piece saying that General Sephiroth was dead, glossed over and hurried through like they were trying to keep anyone from really noticing. But no mention of the troops that had been with him, or what might have happened to them, or even where they had been so that she could have gone searching herself. There was simply-- nothing.
> 
> She told herself they weren't dead-- she'd tried, early on, to feel them in the Lifestream, tried to hear their voices among those that whispered to her, but couldn't. But far from being a comfort-- as the days and weeks went by, and they still never came, the silence somehow only made her feel more alone.

Aeris, beginning of the game. Implied Zack/Cloud/Aeris.  


> When she saw him walking towards her out of the rubble, she thought she was seeing his ghost at last. Except then he came close enough for her to see the dust on his clothes, the thin line of red from a scratch on his arm, and she realized that it was a living, breathing body there before her.
> 
> For a moment, just a moment, she thought her heart might have stopped.
> 
> But then he looked at her, and she saw nothing like recognition in his eyes-- just a vague, impersonal curiousity shot through with unexpected sparks of mako-energy.
> 
> Some part of her automatically spoke-- sold him a flower and took his money, and watched him walk away again with a wary, dangerous stride. And despite the shock of recognition that still shivered under her skin, she had to wonder if it really was him after all.

Reno on the job  


> Turn, swing-- hit the button and listen to it purr, listen to the crackle as another faceless guard falls to the floor. Step back and to the side, dance easily around their clumsiness-- put one hand in his pocket and give them a smirk as he can almost _hear_ their teeth grind.
> 
> Turn again and swipe, then let the baton fall to its leash and pull out the guns instead as they finally clue in and try to keep a distance. Morons-- as if he'd have only one weapon. Shock or bullet, it doesn't matter to him-- it'll all end the same, either way they choose.
> 
> Blood on the floor, blood on his shoes and suit-- he makes a face, thinking of the drycleaning bill, but it doesn't last. Step over the last corpse, move to the wall-- pull the detonator out of a pocket and set it with a few easy twists.
> 
> Stand, stretch, hear something pop in his neck. Look around at what had been, half an hour earlier, the private back room of a posh restaraunt, and wonder briefly if there's anything worth scavenging of the expensive dinners on the table.
> 
> Walk out the back door, whistling absently, hands in pockets. He's a block away when it blows, the blast of air warm against his neck, ruffling his hair.
> 
> Reno smiles. It's a good day.

Tseng and Rufus, post-AC  


> After what seems like ages, they finally arrive back at the Healin Lodge. The others vanish, and it's just as well-- as little as he likes to admit it, today was hard. His leg aches; his head throbs. His arm burns, still, with the persistent ghost of pain.
> 
> Tseng pushes the wheelchair close to the bed, and does what has become routine: helps Rufus from his seat, guides him through the excercises for his damaged leg, checks each stubbornly raw scar. But then, kneeling in front of him, Tseng lifts his hand and just looks at it. He pushes back the sleeve, and it is somehow startling to see the clean pink skin there, unmarked by the dark bruising of Geostigma.
> 
> Tseng lifts the hand to his lips and kisses the back of it in an oddly formal gesture, and Rufus blinks. "Another of your customs from Wutai?" he asks lightly.
> 
> Tseng looks him in the eye. "No."

Rude's gloves  


> Reno seems to notice the moment he walks through the door-- he pauses mid-step, turning his head, nostrils flaring as he scents the air. He walks up to Rude, catches up one leather-clad hand before his partner can pull it away, puts it near his nose and breathes deep. Makes an appreciative noise and looks up with that light dancing in his eyes-- the one that usually means no good, unless it means _very_ good. "Another new pair?"
> 
> Rude shrugs, not bothering to state the obvious. Reno takes another breath, drops Rude's hand and grins. "I hope you'll need help breaking them in."

Reno's cuff  


> Tseng catches sight of it as they file out of his office. "Reno."
> 
> Reno stops, turns. Tseng comes up to him and grabs his arm, lifting it until the sleeve falls back and reveals the leather cuff strapped beneath it. With his other hand, Tseng threads one finger delicately through the single metal ring. "This is hardly regulation."
> 
> Reno's grin is unrepentent. "Sure is fun, though."
> 
> Tseng studies that smile, then mentally sighs and dismisses the issue. "Just not at formal occasions. Understood?"
> 
> "Of course." With a leather-flashing wave, Reno starts for the door again, stopping only to toss another grin over his shoulder. "I've got one in black for those."

Sephiroth/Zack cuteness  


> Zack watched the clock, counting down the seconds, then with a triumphant grin strode over to the desk. He pulled the stack of paperwork away from the man seated there, who looked up at him in a mixture of irritation and relief. "I'm almost done."
> 
> "No, you _are_ done. It's twenty-two-hundred, and that's quitting time."
> 
> Sephiroth sighed. "Zack--"
> 
> With the ease of practice, Zack straightened the files, tucked them into their folders and had the whole mess stuck into a drawer before Sephiroth had even pushed his chair back. "Hmm?" He glanced over, expression determinedly innocent in the face of his general's exasperation. "Oh, come on-- you could keep doing paperwork for two weeks straight and still not make a dent, so don't tell me that it's going to make a difference if you stop for the night. I will not be responsible for the aftermath if you start pulling all-nighters again."
> 
> It might have been the light, but it seemed as though a faint flush touched Sephiroth's cheeks. "That was only the one time," he muttered.
> 
> "Yeah, and it was only a small hole in the wall, I know. I'm just glad it was me who woke you up and not some poor clerk-- imagine the cost of the therapy the guy would have needed. And _such_ bad PR if the story got out."
> 
> The grin and wink Zack threw him took any possible sting out of the words, and so Sephiroth could only arch a sardonic eyebrow and settle back in his chair. "Well, it's good we have you to protect the dignity and reputation of the company, then," he said dryly.
> 
> Zack snapped to perfect parade-ground attention and gave an exaggerated salute. "All in the line of duty, sir."

Rude/Reno, on the clock  


> "Please?"
> 
> "No."
> 
> "They wouldn't know."
> 
> Rude just gave him a _look_, right through the sunglasses, and Reno was grudgingly forced to admit the point. It was Tseng-- he'd know, no matter how well they cleaned it up. "Well, it's not like he'd care. Not too much, anyway. And it's not like it'd be the first time."
> 
> Rude was rolling his eyes; Reno _knew_. "Partner-- take a look around."
> 
> Heaving a sigh, Reno did so. Saw the gilded vases, the plush rugs, the little carved wooden whatsits in the wall alcoves-- the great mural-covered doors behind which their new president was conducting his silver-tongued diplomatic magic. Concluded, yet again, that the Wutaians had really _awful_ taste in decor-- not that he'd ever say so where Tseng could hear him. "Yeah, and?"
> 
> Rude gave a little half-growl, taking a step closer, and Reno thought he was _finally_ getting somewhere. But Rude just leaned in close and lowered his voice. "If you want to be fucked so badly, partner, then I'll put you through the locker room wall when we get home. But you can at least wait until we're back in our own _country_."
> 
> Reno fought hard to bite back a whimper. "Not if you keep talking like that, I can't."

Cloud in the army, Sephiroth's first impression  


> Standing under a ledge, out of the rain, Sephiroth covertly watched the newest batch of recruits go through their paces, noting how they acted when they weren't going out of their way to impress anyone. And overall, he found himself bitterly disappointed. Oh, they puffed up prettily enough when on parade or during inspections, but out there on a normal day, in the rain, with only one sergeant to keep them moving? Some were fumbling their rifles and missing their steps, not paying enough attention to what they were supposed to be doing. Some others weren't even making the _effort_, giving off a surly, bored impatience-- one, taking advantage of the sergeant's momentary inattention, actually _stopped_ in his steps to shake off the water clinging to his slicker and glance up at the sky in irritation.
> 
> In his experience, those were the worse kind of recruits it was possible to get-- they may have been talented, but they were entirely too aware of it, and didn't _do_ anything with their potential. Probably dreamed of coasting through basic training right into an officer's position.
> 
> He was considering going over and scaring them all into obedience-- it was a crude method, distasteful, but unfortunately it worked-- when his attention was redirected. In the back row, half-hidden, was one figure-- a smaller boy, a head below any of the others. But he moved with a determinination that was unique among all of the sorry figures out there. Back straight, shoulders set-- eyes forward, hanging off the seargent's every call. When he fumbled-- as he inevitably did, because the rifle seemed far too big for him-- it was met with a flash of irritation, and the subsequent moves were even more determined.
> 
> The General watched a while longer, eyes scanning the rows, but his attention always managed to come back to that slight boy in the back. Checking the file he carried, he flipped through the photos until he found the appropriate one-- there was no mistaking that hair, even bogged down with water.
> 
> Strife, Cloud.
> 
> With one last considering look he turned away, already making mental notes and arrangements, grateful that one, at least, was worth watching. The boy wasn't the best of the lot-- far from it. But it was always the ones willing to fight their way up from behind who ended up surprising you.

Cid, Vincent, cigarettes.  


> Cid practically gaped as his question was met with a blank look-- gaped and then growled, turning away with a very sadly unlit cigarette dangling useless from his fingers. Ifrit's balls, it was a simple enough concept, and what did they use to cook their damned food, fire materia? Who the hell travelled without _matches_?
> 
> And now he was in the middle of fucking nowhere with a full pack of cigs and no way to smoke them-- unless he was willing to risk that fire materia, of course, but he was rather fond of his eyebrows, not that he'd ever tried that before-- and the only people around were the matchless wonders behind him and-- hunh. Ok, well, maybe, not that he seemed the type, but what the hell, it's not like his cig could get any less lit.
> 
> "Hey Vin," he called as he approached, "you got a light?"
> 
> Vincent of course just _looked_ at him at first, like he was thinking over the words and trying to find some hidden insult, but then, Vincent was one seriously paranoid bastard sometimes. Didn't matter, so long as he had a gods-be-damned match. Still, the _looking_ went on so long that Cid thought he was out of luck, until Vincent's hand came up holding a fancy-ass shiny lighter with something that looked suspiciously like the ShinRa logo printed tiny on the corner.
> 
> The lighter flipped open, sparked; Cid leaned in and breathed deep.

Cid, Vincent, Schadenfreude  


> Yuffie's eyebrows were climbing steadily up towards her hairline; Tifa's cheeks had long since gained a delicate rose hue, and Barrett was grinning openly, no doubt taking notes. Cid seemed to notice none of it, gritting his teeth and gripping Cloud's wrist tight enough to bruise anyone else, and his string of heartfelt curses just continued to grow more and more inventive.
> 
> "Not that much more," Aeris said soothingly, though her eyes were twinkling a bit suspiciously. "Just keep him steady," she added to Cloud, who nodded and settled his grip again, keeping the squirming pilot in place while she prodded his bleeding leg again.
> 
> "Ifrit's fiery balls-- explain to me again," Cid said through gritted teeth, "why you can't just fucking give me a gods-cursed potion and let-- _damn it, woman, that stings_!"
> 
> "We don't have any potions left, old man," Yuffie said with an exaggerated roll of the eyes. "Like we said the last three times you asked."
> 
> "And no one has the strength left to use materia tonight," Aeris chimed in patiently. "Tomorrow, we'll fix you up good as new."
> 
> "Fine for you," Cid grumbled, chewing vigorously on his cigarette. "You're going to be able to sleep tonight. I'm the one lying here with his fucking leg ripped o-- oh, Hades take all the Knights and fuck them sideways," he broke off with a moan.
> 
> "It's not that bad," Aeris said, chiding, her voice sounding only a little unsteady. "It's just the venom making it feel worse, and if you'd sit still and let me finish cleaning it--" She fixed the pilot with a pointed look, and Cid subsided back into Cloud's bracing grip with poor grace, still muttering under his breath.
> 
> Vincent shifted slightly, fingers rubbing against the smooth surface of the bottle in his pocket-- but once again decided against bringing it out. Even if Aeris hadn't been so calm-- well, if Cid had the breath and the energy to complain, he wasn't that badly hurt. And this way--
> 
> Vincent actually had to work at keeping his face straight when a fresh shout rang out and Yuffie clapped both hands over her mouth to muffle snickers. He thought he might have even seen _Cloud's_ mouth twitch before he turned his head away.
> 
> They'd needed a break in the tension, anyway, he thought with a smirk. If Cid was going to be good enough to volunteer, well, who was Vincent to deny him the honour?

Sephiroth, unparalleled under heaven  


> _Magnificent_, the voice said. _More than; so far beyond these pitiful creatures._
> 
> "No," he murmured, but even to his own ears the words sounded uncertain.
> 
> _A god among mortals-- unparalleled under heaven._
> 
> He shook his head. "Just a man. Just like--"
> 
> _The traitor._
> 
> "No."
> 
> _They're all traitors._
> 
> "All--" He blinked, and wondered when he had drawn his sword.
> 
> _Come to me._
> 
> There might have been a voice, calling his name-- faint, though, barely noticeable. So many insignificant things--
> 
> _Come to me._
> 
> "Yes," Sephiroth said, "Mother."

Hojo, Vincent, scalpel  


> He'd never trusted the good doctor, no matter how many times Lucrezia asked him otherwise. Had never trusted the distant, speculative glint of his eyes or the scalpel-thin slash of his smile-- too many ideas behind those eyes, it seemed, too much of a sense that you were only as good as the results you might produce.
> 
> Lucrezia said he worried too much, suspected too easily-- of course he did, it was his job-- that he was seeing things that weren't there.
> 
> Oddly enough, he found no satisfaction in finding out that he was right, after all.

Cloud and Aeris, the spring that never comes  


> "It seems-- sad, somehow."
> 
> "What's that?" Aeris asked back, looking at him with eyebrows raised.
> 
> In reply, he gestured-- the snowy streets of Icicle, the wind howling in the distance, the fog of breath on the air. The path the others had left on their way to the inn was a furrow of gray on the ground. "No flowers," he said, shrugging. "It's almost like the spring will never come."
> 
> "Silly."
> 
> A snowball hit his shoulder, exploding in a puff of white. Aeris smiled when he turned to face her, her mittens dusted with snow.
> 
> "Winter can be fun, too."

Zack/anyone, there's nothing that a little pizza won't make better   


> He'd really thought he'd found somewhere good this time, but he should have known that nowhere was safe from Zack. Because he really hadn't been there that long when the man in question just came strolling up and plopped down beside him, setting out paper napkins and the greasy folding box as if it were any other day.
> 
> "Come on," he said, "there's nothing that a little pizza won't make better."
> 
> "Even this?" Cloud replied bitterly. _This_\-- a letter of rejection, a failed test, a broken dream.
> 
> Zack slung an arm over his shoulders, pulled him in. "Yeah, well, it can't hurt."


End file.
